Can you change an outlaw?
by IloveDimples
Summary: Jane Rizzoli is as ruthless and unforgiving as the lands she roams. A vicious outlaw, she takes what she wants and kills who she pleases. At war with her own people, as well as native Americans, she loves no one, not even her brothers. Until a beautiful, courageous woman enters her life. Can this woman's love change Jane? Or is she destined to remain the same?
1. Chapter 1

**Hey Rizzles fans.**

 **I wrote this, this afternoon. I have the Rizzles bug again. Anyone interested in reading more? Just let me know and I will continue as time permits.**

 **I am going to finish my other story one day, I just have a massive love for western and can't deny this need to write about it. Jane will be pretty brutal at this stage, Maura, when she enters will be her usual caring self.**

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1870 Montana

"You got two more minutes you son of a bitch, make them worth my while!"

"Ye…yes…yes okay, just please don't hurt me," the frail man whispered as he hastened to do as the frightening outlaw asked. The outlaw who pressed the barrel of her colt harder against his temple.

"Hurry up," she growled, "and I won't."

"Just shoot the old bastard and we'll get the money ourselves," the other outlaw shouted, causing the elderly man to fumble and drop the sack he was holding onto the worn wooden floor.

"God damn it Tommy shut up! I run this show!"

"Pick up the sack old man," Tommy sneered, earning him a feral glare from his taller sister, "put our money in it. Now!"

"Tommy! I said shut up," the cutthroat woman roared, slamming her free fist on the counter, causing the teller to whimper.

"You!" she levelled once again at the terrified man "one minute! Hurry the fuck up!"

As quick as the decrepit man could bend, he did so, and retrieving the sack continued to pile thick stacks into it from the safe.

"Jane calm down," a voice of reason beckoned from the entrance, "he's doing the best he can."

"Who are you? His fucking hero come to save the day?" she bellowed at her other brother Frankie, ignoring his reply as she turned back to the teller.

"Thirty seconds," she spat vehemently.

"Times up Jane, we need to clear out; the Marshal and his deputy are riding in," Frankie managed to get in.

"You got any family old man?" Jane asked nonchalantly, suddenly appearing bored.

Grey eyes widened in complete fear and he began to shake, "yes…oh please…please don't hurt my grandchildren."

"Oh...so you do? Good," she rasped coldly before pulling the trigger, brain matter splattering the wall behind him, his lifeless body crumpling.

Tommy hooted maliciously as the few women who were in the bank screamed in terror from their positions on the floor.

"Shut up you uppity bitches," Jane snarled as she shoved her colt into its holster.

"Jane that wasn…"

"Let's get," she cut through Frankie's protests, shoving him viciously aside as the three made their way from the small town bank.

"Don't you women say a word now, or I'll have to kill you too," she yelled back towards the banks vicinity. Tommy laughed deeply. Frankie sighed.

Mounting their horses, the three of them fled, Janes curly hair billowing out behind her, as black and wild as the horse beneath her.

 **J &M**

"Rizzoli gang, it has to be."

"Marshal?" the chocolate skinned deputy inquired, a question in his voice.

"Yeah Deputy Frost you know what to do," the marshal sighed wearily. He rubbed his greying temples and stood.

"Such a waste, such a shame," he muttered as he looked upon Williams corpse, flies already indulging in the delicacy of human flesh.

"Scour this town for witnesses, leave no stone unturned. Jesus Christ what am I going to tell his wife, his children, his grandchildren?"

"The truth," Deputy Frost murmured, "I can, if you want?"

"No. No it's my duty. God damn…!" he suddenly cursed "they get away every time! Every damn time!"

Deputy Frost remained silent, purposely avoiding looking upon the grizzly scene before him.

"I'll get to it then," he finally murmured before stepping outside and sucking in copious amounts of fresh air.

"Hey you black son of a bitch how is old William?" a curious bystander by the name of Jack mouthed off.

"It's Deputy Frost to you. And William is dead."

"Well son of a bitch," Jack spluttered.

Frost merely raised an eyebrow before stepping from the deck, his worn boots kicking up dust as he strode back towards the Marshals office.

"Stupid fucking black man," Jack muttered to know one in particular, spitting tobacco juice as he sauntered towards the saloon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys. Thank you for the feedback. I've decided to keep writing this story for you's. It is intentionally less detailed then my first, and later on more will be revealed about who Jane is as well as Maura. Please make note of any dates changes in the story. E.g Chap one was 1870, chap two is 1871.**

 **I am an Australian, so forgive my lack of historically correct knowledge about the old west of America. I guess I am making it up a little without being too far fetched I hope haha.**

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Mid October 1871, Oregon

 _Thwack thwack_

 _Thwack clunk_

"Shit!"

Her angry outburst startled a group of chickadees, sending the little birds scattering into the otherwise quiet morning. Glaring at the axe that had rebounded off the log, hitting her damaged knee, she grabbed the offending weapon and hurled it across the clearing.

Giving herself a few minutes to recover, she then stood and retrieved the hatchet before resuming the mind numbing task. Winter was upon Oregon, and before long snow would blanket the state, turning what was colourful and lush, a stark ghostly white. Residents of Oregon had to be prepared for the harsh, unforgiving season or wind up dead, and Jane for the most part, was prepared.

Once finished chopping, she stacked the pine logs neatly against a cabin wall and wiped the cold sweat from her brow with her forearm.

The oldest of the Rizzoli gang, Jane lived a solitary life deep in the forest, sheltered by hundreds of Douglas fir. She travelled far and wide, but returned to her cabin in Oregon most winters. Contact with people was rare during these months. On her travels however, they were common place, although she only associated with them when necessary.

Collecting her worn coffee pot and mug, she left her modest cabin and went to stoke the fire that had since dwindled to smouldering ashes from the previous night. She spat into it before throwing a couple of logs and leaf matter from underfoot. Before long it was blazing well and she hung the pot and waited patiently for it to boil. Her mind drifted absently through the remainder of what needed to be done before snowfall until she became aware the hairs at the back of her neck were standing on end. Rising abruptly, hand on her cult; she scanned the tree line around the clearing. Nothing was out of the ordinary but her body remained aware. Hearing the faintest snap of a twig to her left, her colt followed the noise but there was nothing except towering pines rustling softly in the chilled morning breeze. The sensation of curious eyes upon her persisted, so she strode back inside the cabin for her rifle. Her instincts were never wrong, and although they were telling her whoever was watching meant no harm, they were nevertheless an unwelcome visitor.

Firing a warning shot above her head, the feeling persisted momentarily before abating. She waited a few more minutes, rifle at the ready, but when no one stepped forth she resumed her perch next to the fire. Half an hour later Tommy meandered along the small broken path to her cabin and was met with the rifle.

"Whoa, nice to see you too."

Smiling laconically he slid from his horse, but the smile turned to anger when Jane fired a shot, making his horse rear and pull away.

"What the fuck was that for," he demanded in astonishment, trying to get a handle on his mount.

"You've been watching me!" she growled, levelling the rifle at his chest.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, I just got here Jane."

Eventually he quietened his horse, with no help from her.

"What are you doing here," she bellowed, causing his horse to resume its nervous prancing from moments before.

"I came to visit," he grinned sheepishly.

"Well get back on your horse and fuck off."

"Jane, it's been almost a year since our last bank robbery. I'm out of money; we need to set something up."

"It's not my problem you spend all your money on whores and whiskey."

"Jane…"

"You shouldn't be here," she cut in sharply, "you know the fucking rules. Never show up here without an invitation."

With that she lowered her rifle and turned back towards her cabin.

"But where am I supposed to stay tonight?" he called lamely.

Jane ignored him, but Tommy took that as an invitation to follow her.

"Jane, just one night, I'll be gone first thing tomorrow."

He pleaded in a pathetic whine that always infuriated her and at that moment all she wanted to do was say yes so he would shut his mouth. But it wasn't wise for the Rizzoli trio to be seen together too often. Jane knew this, they all knew this, but it seemed Frankie was the only brother smart enough to follow through.

"One night you dumb cunt, but don't ever show up here unannounced again, or I will shoot you!"

"Jane I…"

"Since you're hear you can work, and tomorrow you're helping me hunt bison."

"You got it."

"Just shut up and cut me some more firewood," she snarled, "I'm taking the mule into town for supplies. And there will be no talk of robbery until I say so."

 **J &M**

She arose early the next morning, dressing in her customary canvas trousers; white button down shirt, black coat, well-worn boots and dusty Stetson. Leaving the cabin she doused the coals, kicked a snoring Tommy in his ribs and told him to wake up, before saddling her horse and packing the saddle bags with equipment needed to hunt. They ate a quick breakfast of dried venison and strong tea before mounting their horses and heading out for grass prairies. Jane only needed one generous sized pelt, enough to replace a worn blanket, and meat enough for smoking and frying. For a morning of potentially dangerous work, a bison pelt was the cheapest way to stay warm during winter. Deer, rabbit and beaver would make up the remaining meat needed to survive the snowy season.

It took them about an hour of easy riding, so as not to wind the horses, before they came upon plains known for bison that time of year. Although Jane looked relaxed and at ease in the saddle, she remained vigilant the entire ride, for it was not uncommon to come across native warriors, scouts or hunting parties that lived in Oregon. Over the years she had also come across parties of Cheyenne, Crow, Pawnee and Sioux from across the Great Plains. Jane despised the Native American people and had no qualms about killing them any more than killing men of her own race.

Signalling for Tommy to stop, the pair looked down upon fields of gold, speckled dark with hundreds of grazing bison. Jane licked her thumb and held it up, and keeping downwind they made their way closer to the enormous heard.

"You know what to do," she murmured quietly.

Tommy simply nodded; this wasn't their first hunt together. The two worked efficiently, heading off an aged cow at the rear of a scant group, Tommy taking the heart shot and Jane taking the brain. The large beast groaned forlornly before collapsing heavily to the dirt. They encountered no challenge from any of the other mammals thundering away and Tommy whooped and laughed, firing his pistol into the sky, much to Jane's distain.

"Cut it out," she barked, keeping tight rein on her sweating horse, "we killed one bison and you act like we killed the whole heard."

"Oh come on Jane lighten up for once in your life, you're always so sour."

Her fierce scowl was her only reply as she turned her horse sharply and trotted out to the ancient animal lying in congealing blood. Dismounting, she rummaged through a saddle bag but glanced across the saddle when Tommy whistled a warning. Five lone natives on horseback watched them from the rise on which they had ridden down not long past. They were too far away to distinguish with certainty but Jane guessed at Cheyenne due to the excessive headwear they wore.

 _Hunting party._

Chancing a glance towards her brother she grimaced. He too was behind his horse, slowly reloading his rifle. Whistling low, she motioned across her neck with her hand and with a muted curse Tommy stopped reloading. These Cheyenne were not out to raise conflict, they were simply out to hunt food. Although Jane itched to put a bullet in their dark flesh, she knew there had to be more of the savages over the rise, too many to take on for even seasoned shots like themselves.

So they remained where they were, sheltered behind their grazing mounts, until the natives simultaneously turned their painted fillies and trotted from the rise.

Jane glowered at their retreating forms, spat and motioned for Tommy to help her with the bison, berating him the remainder of his stay for attempting to fire upon the Cheyenne.


	3. Chapter 3

**And welcome Maura. Briefly lol**

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After skinning and cutting the bison apart, the pair brought back as much flesh and fat as they could manage to Jane's cabin. The following hours were spent salting and hanging the thick slabs in the air drying shed beside her cabin. They then staked the pelt taught on her tanning rack, where it would remain until stiff, before being moved into the sun for a few days. It was gruesome, fetid work, but neither of them was bothered by it. When finished Jane sent Tommy away, grudgingly with a portion of meat and fat.

 **J &M**

The next morning was spent hunting hares. Returning to her cabin with half a dozen slung over her shoulder, as well as a beaver, Jane made short work of skinning, gutting, salting and hanging the small creatures in with the bison slabs. Not having bathed the day before, the rancid stench of flesh stuck to her like a second skin. Grabbing together homemade soap and clean clothing she headed for the shallow rapids of Grande River.

The water rushed against her chiselled torso like freezing daggers, yet she merely frowned, having experienced much worse. Spending a decent amount of time washing away the blood, dirt and grime that had accumulated on her olive skin, she then dunked her mane of curls and lathered them roughly. Sauntering from the rapids nude and without inhibition, Jane collected her soiled clothing and returned to the waste deep water to wash them brusquely.

Upon returning to her rustic cabin and hanging out her clean clothes, she again became aware of appraising eyes watching her. Intuition told Jane it was the same person from two days ago, but this time, rather than scare the interloper away; she was determined to beat them at their own game. Sneaking up on Jane Rizzoli wasn't an easy feat, and this person had managed it twice.

Making her way casually towards her cabin, she went inside, only to climb out her bedroom window across the other side of the room, but not before grabbing her rifle. She snuck into the undergrowth and cut a wide circle around the perimeter of her land, heading for the area she heard the twig snap two days ago, hoping the trespasser was there.

Catching a mere glimpse of buckskin clothing up ahead, she ducked lower and crept forward. But to her consternation, whoever this person was, it seemed they were just as aware of her as she was of them. Before they could flee Jane flung herself up and charged the much shorter figure, grasping a slender arm, twisting and pushing in the same movement, pinning the uninvited guest back against a pine tree.

Compelling hazel eyes met fierce dark brown, and momentarily stunned at the beauty before her, Jane loosened her grip.

"Who are you," she demanded, "why are you watching me?"

Jane's intense gaze rushed over the shorter woman in her grasp, if she was frightened, she gave no indication, she simply cocked her head. To say Jane wasn't taken back would be a lie. The woman was dressed in Cheyenne attire, but her hair was the colour of light honey, her skin like alabaster.

"Well?"

"Nátsėhéstahe," a soft, warm voice responded.

Jane's eyebrows rose in surprise and before she could say anything the smaller woman slipped her grasp and rushed into the forest. Jane stood there a moment, scowling at the spot the mysterious woman had disappeared before swearing. What was she doing spying on Jane? Worse, where were the other members of her tribe? She pondered angrily the remainder of the day, but come night her sullen mood had all but disappeared as she nursed a whiskey and her pipe beside the fire.

 **J &M**

1872 Wyoming

Jane sat towards the back of the saloon, brooding over her third whiskey. It was time to head home to Oregon. She'd spent months alongside her brothers, robbing stagecoaches and trains across Wyoming and had made reasonable profit, but it was time to go low once more. They had taken the usual precautions, wearing bandanas across their faces, low brimmed rancher hats and rancher garb instead of their normal apparel and only struck once a week.

Neither the law or common folk had ever cast suspicion upon the Rizzoli siblings and Jane surmised it was because of the fact that when they weren't robbing under the Rizzoli name, they went by different ones. She was proud to be an outlaw under her true name, but she wasn't foolish, so as far as anyone who had ever known her, she was Clementine Alexander. Frankie was Jordan McGill and Tommy was Colin Young. Only when they were together would they use their real names. Having different identities allowed them freedom to live as law abiding citizens, but Jane was never short of cautious and demanded they stay apart from one another unless robbing.

Swinging back the remainder of her whiskey, she belched softly as she left the saloon, untied her mare, mounted and left the rundown town of Fort Logan.

Three days later she was setting a leisurely pace over rocky mountains and across alpine rivers. She had left high plains, Crow tribe territory, the day before and had been mindful of remaining undetected. Fairly certain she had, Jane had allowed her guard down and let the tranquillity of nature in. For all the time she spent in it, it was rarely a priority to enjoy it; nature was simply there to provide her with what she needed to survive.

When her horse stopped abruptly and began pawing at the earth, Jane cursed under her breath. Someone or something had stopped the mare. Tightening her hold on the reins with her left hand Jane reached for her colt but her mare whinnied and reared beneath her, taking her focus off it.

"Whoa girl, take it easy."

Managing to unholster her cult a sharp jolt of pain ripped through her abdomen causing her to cry out. She sat sufficiently stunned for a moment before more pain impacted her torso. Managing a brief glance downwards, the source of the sudden agony became apparent. Tying to lift the colt and finding herself incapable of doing so, it fell from her listless grasp. Her horse shifted nervously and Jane felt herself losing consciousness. Swaying precariously, she coughed up blood before sliding from the saddle, hitting the earth heavily. The mare fleeing in fright was the last thing she saw before darkness welcomed her.


	4. Chapter 4

Two months later

Jane awoke gradually to shadowy light. Vision unfocused she glanced around, but the modest area was a blur of indistinguishable shapes. The aroma of herbs and smoke hung heavy on the warm air. Her head swam with pain and confusion and she let out a groan. Almost immediately an obscured figure hovered above her and she stiffened reflexively. She tried to use her voice but the figure laid a soft, warm hand upon her forehead and hushed her soothingly. Jane quietened, dropping back into dreamless slumber.

She was unaware of how much time had passed when she awoke again; her vision however, was crisper, the meagre silhouettes now taking shape. She noted grimly that she was in a tepee. A fire pit took precedence in the centre and a bed of colourful blankets across from it indicated she wasn't alone. A short wooden bench sat beside the blankets, as well as some crude utensils and racks of dried herbs. There were no weapons, for which she was thankful, but it was then she realised hers were nowhere in sight, and neither was her shirt. Palming around beneath the blanket and buffalo skin she was naked from the waist up. Jane's mind was too muddled to remember what had happened before now; all she knew was that she needed to dress and leave. But her body lacked the strength to obey her commands; she got half way to sitting before collapsing back to the blanket with a grunt of pain.

"Fuck."

Considering her next moves, she was taken off guard when the door lap opened and a figure stepped in on a cold blast of wind. Jane tensed, ready for a struggle with the small form. The light from outside temporarily blinded her to details of the persons face until they shuffled closer and bent down.

"You?" she hissed, blinking rapidly.

Instant rage welled within Jane, and with sheer determination she forced herself to a sitting position, only to have the Cheyenne woman try and push her down gently by her shoulders. Jane shoved her hands away, her combined efforts breaking her out in a sweat.

"Don't touch me."

The white woman cocked her head slightly and watched Jane with patience.

Her memory came back fast and hard, she was heading home when she had been hit in the torso with two arrows. Jane hadn't had the wherewithal to distinguish which tribe had tried to kill her, but now, seeing this woman before her, she would bet good money the Cheyenne were responsible.

Pushing off the blankets, paying no regard for her nakedness, Jane looked around for her shirt.

"Wild one, why do you struggle?" the woman spoke softly, and Jane regarded her coldly, unable to understand her native tongue.

Without fear the woman shifted closer to Jane, briefly regarding her small breasts before finding her eyes again. Wordlessly she picked up a cloth from a bowl of liquid and reached forward to wipe the sweat from Jane's brow. Jane seized her slender wrist and held fast. Time seemed to slow as they observed one another. Jane was unable to ignore the warmth and buttery softness of the woman's skin under her hand, and that only enraged her more, so she let go.

With tenderness, the woman resumed her task, cleansing her face of sweat before tying the damp cloth around her forehead. Jane watched her murderously until she was finished.

"Someone from your tribe tried to kill me," she growled, "why do you help me?"

Jane couldn't be sure how the blonde haired Cheyenne understood her, but she did, her hazel eyes widening in alarm. She left her tepee abruptly and Jane chose that moment to groan loudly from the exhaustion and pain it took to keep herself upright. Slumping backwards she lay panting furiously.

The woman returned and crouched beside Jane, holding a broken arrow smothered in dried blood.

"Crow tribe," she murmured, pointing at the arrow before placing it above a fresh scar on Jane's torso.

"Crow tribe," she stated again.

She then pointed to herself, "Cheyenne tribe."

Her meaning registered with Jane, for it was the only broken English she had spoken thus far. Jane nodded and the woman relaxed noticeably.

"Mamakiaeh", she pointed to herself once more, "Maura."

Jane wondered briefly why the graceful woman had two names, but then decided she didn't care. Maura had proved her people weren't responsible for her near death, and although she had rescued and brought her back to health, that didn't mean Jane had to be friends with her nor indebted to her. Instead of telling the woman her name, she stared blankly before turning her head and closing her eyes. Sleep claimed her rapidly. With a doleful look upon her face Maura covered Jane's scarred body and went back outside to her daily duties.

When she returned at dusk, Jane was awake. Maura noticed and smiled softly at her and despite herself, Jane was struck by how arresting the woman was. Sitting down beside her, Maura pulled out a fringed buckskin tunic from a woven basket and gave it to Jane.

"Sh..sh..irt?"

Jane stared hard at Maura before accepting the soft garment. It looked newly made, most likely Maura's doing.

"Horse?" she rasped abruptly.

Maura smiled fondly at the mention of her mare and Jane narrowed her gaze. She made a simple gesture towards the tepee flap and Jane deduced her horse must be outside somewhere.

Maura turned and began stirring the coals of the fire, taking herbs from racks and busying herself as Jane watched suspiciously.

Holding a bowl of dark, strong smelling liquid, Maura mimicked drinking the concoction before offering it to Jane by way of settling it close to her cracked lips. Jane glowered up at her before shoving it away, spilling some in the process. Maura clucked in annoyance and tried once more.

"I don't want that shit."

Maura merely held it closer and raised a delicate eyebrow but Jane pushed it away harder, sending it flying.

"I said I don't want it."

Maura's soft features flashed with hurt and she glanced towards her lap before shifting back to the fire.

The following morning, Mamakiaeh was grooming Jane's mare with firm, loving strokes when a commotion near her tepee made her rush from the coral.

Jane stood weakly outside of it, surrounded by furious Cheyenne. Elders and young watched the scene with mixed reactions. When Maura saw what was happening she rushed to Jane's side. Grasping her arm to steer her back inside, Jane shoved her off rather violently and the half a dozen young warriors thrust their decorated spears towards her.

Jane turned to Maura, "Horse!" she demanded.

The warrior's pushed their spears closer. Maura spoke to them pleadingly in Cheyenne and Jane watched the conversation with unconcealed malice. After a few minutes they grudgingly lowered their spears but stayed close watching Jane with untrusting eyes.

Maura shook her head sadly before turning and gesturing for Jane to follow. Sparing a malevolent glance towards the men, she limped painfully and slowly after the shorter woman.

With quiet resignation Maura fetched Jane's weapons and helped her saddle her mare. Groaning loudly as she mounted her horse, Jane turned away and urged it to walk. She got a reasonable way off before clenching her jaw and cursing. Sparing a glance over her shoulder, the woman remained, worry etching her features.

"Thank you," Jane spoke reluctantly before setting off.

Maura watched forlornly until she disappeared over a rise.


End file.
